


Follow My Voice

by unrivaled_tapestry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Hypnosis, Insomnia, M/M, Meditation, Mental Health Issues, Not the best self care, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28175862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/pseuds/unrivaled_tapestry
Summary: Years after the war, Dimitri's insomnia returns. Dedue wants to try something new to keep things from getting worse.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Follow My Voice

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a departure from my usual fare! I just wanted to write a sweet Dimidue hypnosis fic that....also kind of turned into mindfulness/sleep meditation? I've been having some trouble sleeping myself, so this ended up being the result.
> 
> Heads up for:  
> \- mention of Dimitri's PTSD  
> \- Dimitri going out in the cold barefoot. It's not really explicitly self-harm but it's thematically similar/Dimitri not looking after himself.  
> \- hypnosis as a sleep aid

When Dedue woke up, the first snowfall of the year could be seen outside the ancient crystalline windows of Dimitri’s chambers. One royal blue curtain had been pulled back to let in the weak winter sun the following morning, and the white flakes were bright against the new cloud cover.

Dedue was accustomed to the cold, but he needed a moment to orient himself, to figure out why the front of his throat was strangely chilled.

Much of Duscur was dry and arid, yes, but fewer clouds in the sky meant nighttime bore grim winds and frigid temperatures over the rocks, cliffs, and dunes. Fhirdiad’s coldest winters brought other challenges, but none were unfamiliar or insurmountable and all were made more tolerable under several layers of bearskin and the feeling of his king’s chest rising and falling beneath his palm.

Dedue absently felt around Dimitri’s spot on the bed and found nothing but cooling sheets and covers too heavy for one man.

There were times, either shortly after their reunion or shortly after they began sharing a bed, that Dedue would have met such a situation with panic. The concern of a seasoned bodyguard would have been understandable, but he’d had all taken from him too many times to feel anything but a gutless, throaty fear.

However, time in a bed with another brought familiarity and lulled them each to sleep through things that had been alien previously.

Time away from war and strife had made waking up to find Dimitri gone from his bed less a fount of terror. Rather, he experienced only a deep and resounding sorrow.

As Dedue rose, he gathered up the lowest layer of their bedding—a lovely but simple wool blanket Annette knitted for them during one particularly short-lived autumn, and threw on his boots as he walked across the ancient aging wood of the king’s chambers. It had been Dimitri’s father’s room once, and his father’s, and his father’s before, on and on through history until the moment the first stone was laid in a silent expanse of frosted evergreens.

Dimitri often said sleeping in that room brought him comfort. But sometimes...Dedue suspected it brought more than that, specters even his presence could not guard against.

He found Dimitri out on the balcony, leaning over one of the many planters that he had given Dedue for his birthday shortly after they took permanent residence in the castle. They had spent the next week planting them, and gardening together remained one of the greatest sources of joy in Dedue’s life. Some plants in their collection were evergreen, others lived and died in a season, and a few needed some support through the harsh winter.

Dimitri had claimed a handful of burlap bags from their gardening supplies, as well as some stakes to keep the fabric from crushing delicate leaves and stalks. He had already draped a couple over the more vulnerable plants, but now he struggled to wrap bailing twine around the base of a third, cursing as the string snapped in his fingers—which were already wet from the light dusting of snow.

“Your...Dimitri?” Dedue spoke quietly, public and personal names colliding on his tongue as he asked himself which Dimitri had crawled out of their bed. He had been well recently, but old habits remained, and they were both always ready for the worst.

Dimitri looked back to him, blue eye wide, expression alert but not startled—that was good. But already, Dedue could see his towy bangs clinging to his forehead.

“Dedue. I’m sorry if I woke you.” When he spoke, his breath came out in puffs of fog. He blinked then brushed his wet hair away from his brow. He rose to his full height, as if he had not just broken the twine, as if he was not standing barefoot outside. He motioned to the plants. “I saw the snow falling, and—”

“I assure you, I am concerned about neither of those things.” Only when Dimitri’s eye was on him did Dedue approach, and he wrapped the wool blanket around Dimitri’s shoulders before he could refuse. As if realising he was caught, Dimitri sighed, clutched the edge of the blanket and pulled it tighter around himself. “Why did you not wake me?”

Dedue left ‘as we discussed’ off the end of it.

“I…” Dimitri started, before melting further under the blanket. “For the third time this week?”

A hint of frustration wrapped itself around Dimitri’s words like a serpent.

Dedue fought the urge to chide, to lecture, but it hadn’t _just_ been the previous week, and he knew that frustration could infect both of them if he wasn’t careful. Over the last two months, Dimitri’s sleep had grown poorer. This on its own was not unusual, but alarm came when the techniques and mechanisms they had established for such situations, that had worked reliably for years, were no longer working. Reading, a willing loss of control, and athletic, exhaustive sex all failed to bring rest.

Though Dimitri worked to hide it, Dedue could tell he was afraid. It was too similar to how his mind had unwound at Garreg Mach. The true warning sign—his erstwhile headaches—had not yet returned, but fear followed the insomnia like a biting dog and made it stronger.

Dedue wrapped his arms around Dimitri’s, gently pressing the blanket around him. “Please, come inside. This can all wait for tomorrow.”

Dimitri sucked in a breath. “Dedue, it’s all happening again.”

“It is _not_. Listen to me—I will not let it.” And if it did...he would be there for Dimitri this time, though it was not a thought he could entertain right then, standing on the balcony in the snow with Dimitri’s fingers and toes blueing.

Dedue brought his mouth to Dimitri’s ear, resting his chin on the crook of his neck. “If what we were doing before is no longer effective, we will simply need to try something new.”

Dimitri leaned back into him, though the tension in his body kept his spine rigid and the muscles of his back whipcord tight.

“Can I take you inside now?”

As soon as Dimitri nodded, Dedue was already guiding him inside. As expected, Dimitri had a fairly high tolerance for cold, but as they stepped back into their quarters and Dedue deposited him on the couch in front of the fireplace, he began lightly shivering.

Dedue found fresh kindling and firewood, expertly placing the stack on top of the dying embers from the previous fire in an attempt to resurrect them. He blew lightly, trying to spread the flames. Quickly, the kindling started crackling, and before long a fire roared to life in the hearth, bringing heat and light to a room watched by old maps and portraits Dimitri refused to have moved.

Returning to Dimitri’s side with a towel and his unused slippers, Dedue dried Dimitri’s cold feet before covering them. What would have once brought protest was now second nature, and Dedue cupped Dimitri’s hands in his own to warm them. Like his feet, they might as well have been ice, though to Dedue’s relief, Dimitri’s fingertips were already regaining their normal color. He ran his hands back and forth to generate heat.

When Dedue took his seat, Dimitri made room for him, sitting up before falling back and resting his head against Dedue’s chest as Dedue smoothed raggedy blond hair in gentle strokes.

“I dreamed about being woken up to hunt,” Dimitri admitted, voice rumbling against Dedue. “But when I got out to the woods, I realized I was the one being hunted.”

Dedue listened intently. The dream was a new one, but the theme was familiar. He didn’t need to ask who Dimitri saw hunting him.

“It feels like it always comes back,” Dimitri said. “Like I won’t be able to stop it.”

“Even if it does,” Dedue said, “you are not the same man you were.”

It was an understatement, but one Dedue would repeat as many times as he needed to. Last time, Dimitri had been fresh out of boyhood and viciously betrayed. As often as Dedue could, he meant to remind Dimitri that if he faced his worst ghosts again, it would not be a battle he fought alone in the slums and the wilds.

“You’re right,” Dimitri admitted, voice still dark as his eye locked on to the fire, “but I’m king now. I cannot—” he broke off. “Even if I, if we, find a way through it, how much damage could be done in the meantime?”

“ _None_ , I swear it,” Dedue assured, even as doubt gnawed at him. It was a promise he knew he couldn’t be sure to keep, even as Dimitri needed to hear him say it. “But it won’t come to that. You are well, and you _will_ sleep.”

Dedue’s hand paused on Dimitri’s forehead, and he spied the way the fire reflected in the bright mirror of Dimitri’s eye, the way his focus trailed on the rhythmically crawling flames, darting with every pop.

He had an idea.

Or, the ghost of one, an echo of something Mercedes had said some time ago. She was seeing a healer, she said, to help chase away the worst of her own wartime memories. This healer, she explained, focused on the mind, and was an expert in drawing down one’s defenses, bringing them into a state where they were not merely submissive, but open to suggestion.

She had described some of the process, and Dedue accepted the information as any friend would—glad it was helping her, though uncertain it would do the same for him were their situations reversed. It didn’t sound too different from the meditative techniques often practiced by the people of Duscur, though the focus of those techniques was always on self mastery. They were not typically experiences led by or shared with another.

But something about what she had said needled against Dedue’s mind as he watched the fingers of the fire reaching up to brush the base of the chimney, thought about what his mind always turned to when he could not sleep for fear of his own ghosts finding him.

“The fire is nice,” he said, “isn’t it?”

“It is,” Dimitri responded. “I got colder than I thought.”

Dedue refrained from reminding him that he had been standing barefoot in the snow, and instead tried to draw his attention back to the fire. “I always thought of fire as chaotic, but when it is contained and chasing away the frost, it is rather beautiful. In this context, it is gentle. Protective even.”

The fire popped again, and Dimitri relaxed against him further.

“You are warming up under the blanket.” He stroked at Dimitri’s cheek with his thumb. “That must be nice. I always want to sleep after I’ve worked in the garden.”

Dimitri gave a wordless sound of agreement, and his head flagged, eyelid drooping as he watched the fire.

“Are you getting tired? I am getting tired.” Dedue, emboldened, continued. “Here in our room, safe in here while the snow falls outside.” He paused, trying to find his way into the unsteady melody of their hearth. “Every time the fire crackles, I feel myself getting sleepier.”

The fire popped again. Dimitri’s breath went smoother, more steady, and his eye finally closed. Before long, he was lightly snoring against Dedue, his face lax and his body finally calming.

Dedue let out a breath, then let his head fall back against the couch cushions.

Interesting.

It had not taken much. A calming, steady voice combined with something else to focus on—and the hint of a suggestion—was all Dimitri had needed.

But Dimitri had already been exhausted—and Dedue could only guess at how long he had been outside before Dedue found him and went to join him. This was an idea. Promising, but he had no way of knowing if it would cut through the worst of Dimitri’s nightmares, his harshest moments that made sleep most improbable.

Dedue would reach out to Mercedes on the morrow, and relay his theory to Dimitri before he attempted it in earnest.

The following day, Dedue found Mercedes outside the castle walls She sat at a small portable desk making notes as soldiers stacked grain bags onto rows of buckboard carts, each with a team of strong draft horses pawing at the cobbles and snorting clouds into the air. In the distance, Dedue could see Fhirdiad’s biggest markets opening for the day, workers lighting chains of lanterns that glowed against the fresh covering of snow. Salt had already been laid and the paths cleared for wagons, but Dedue suspected they would get another dusting by midmorning. If there was one thing living in Faerghus had taught him, it was that when he thought it might snow more, it always did.

Best to make it quick, then.

He approached Mercedes, ignoring the troops buzzing around her out of habit. When she saw him, her face instantly brightened, and she rose up from her chair.

“Dedue!” she greeted cheerfully—with the same forthright joy she had mustered since their days at the academy. “It’s so nice of you to stop by.” She spoke as if he had met her in her home, rather than in the middle of organizing rations. “My apologies. Today is just so _busy_.”

“I could come by later if you would prefer,” he offered; he would have to be back at Dimitri’s side soon, in any event.

Mercedes waved away the concern, a bright smile on her face. “Nonsense. I needed to take a break anyway, and I cannot imagine a better way to spend mine than with a dear friend.” She turned back to him. “We aren’t far from the canal. The walking path shouldn't be too icy right now.”

He returned her smile—she inspired it in him, in any who met her. “I would gladly accompany you.”

After Mercedes temporarily handed off her duties to a girl with a secretary’s long feather in her cap, the two of them began the trek down a dirt pathway sparsely decorated with trees. A high railing nearby kept children and drunkards from falling into the space between the city and the castle, to be carried away by the frigid mountain water rushing between them. High walls loomed on the other side, and the sound of running water below gave them something of a sense of privacy.

As soon as they were away from prying eyes, Mercedes’s face relaxed, though her expression remained joyful. “How are you, my friend? I know we have not had much of a chance to talk recently.”

The question flowed around and through him, as soft as the sound of their footsteps in the fresh snow. There was a time when he had never known how to answer, and had settled for a dishonesty enforced by politeness. Now...the answer came easily.

“I am well,” he replied. “We are at peace. His Majesty sits on the throne. Duscur is rebuilding.”

He took a breath. This life was all he wished, he reminded himself of that even against the worry under his breast. He had never thought there wouldn’t be bumps and bruises, even after the last sword was laid on the ground.

“That gladdens me,” Mercedes said, properly pressing her hands in front of her as a pine tree deposited powdery snow on the ground with a muted thump. “Dedue, I hope you don’t mind my asking but...how is Dimitri doing?”

Dedue starchy folded his arms behind him as they walked. Was it so obvious that Dimitri was struggling that anyone who had seen him hold court knew, or had Mercedes only noticed because she knew him nearly as well as Dedue?

“That is actually one of the things I came to talk to you about,” Dedue admitted. “His sleep has been poor.”

“I see.” Her tone dropped into sadness, concern. “I know having you present is a great comfort to him.”

“Not great enough, at the moment.” He pushed against a little needling hurt feeling in his chest—an irrational one. “I wanted to...ask you about something. Forgive me for prying, but I remember you mentioning a certain technique. One that has quieted your mind.”

Mercedes blinked airily. “A technique?”

“Some time ago, you described a healer utilizing a method that has been rather helpful to you.” Dedue coughed, hoping he had not misjudged the situation when Mercedes first brought it to his attention. “A state where you are open to...suggestion.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Yes, of course, how silly of me.”

“I would like to learn more. The general theories, possible risks,” he said, a little coil of fear locking inside him. He needed to try something new, but the idea that he could _make it worse_ ate away at him. “If it is safe—”

“Oh, Goddess! It is quite safe, or should be,” Mercedes replied. “Or it was for me. I promise, it’s rather gentle, and not at all coercive. No herbs or magic.”

“I see.” That was good. Dimitri adamantly refused both in his quest for proper rest. Dedue pondered her words, palms itching and sweating. He would explain everything to Dimitri first, before they attempted it, but a habitual hesitation made him wonder if this would be the right course of action. “You believe it is the kind of experience I may be able to guide him through?”

“I don’t see why not.” She padded down the front of her blouse.

“I am no healer, but he trusts me.” He considered. “He will not be...incapacitated in any way?”

She shook her head. “No more than he would be if he were very relaxed.” Her mouth curved into a teasing smile. “It also has a...variety of other applications, if you’re so inclined.”

“For now, I will settle on helping him sleep well.” His cheeks went hot, and not just against the cold wind. Mercedes never pressed, and he never told more than would be appropriate, though he did catch himself smiling as she broke into a musical giggle.

Mercedes bumped her shoulder against his, eyes sparkling with delight. “Say, I have to get back to work soon, but I wanted to try baking something tasty a little later. If you were up for joining me, we could talk about it a little more.”

He grinned, a little wave of relief following her offer. “I would like nothing more.”

Her smile widened. “I love that plan. I’ll see you then, Dedue!”

Dimitri finally retreated to his room after a simple dinner with a few of the resident lords of Fhirdiad. He was tired—Dedue could tell by the clumsy way his large hands stumbled to remove markers of state and status, to unlatch buttons and unstick pins. But he’d had long days before, and in his eagerness to sleep often only drove it further away in expectation of the day to follow.

Normally, Dedue would have waited, steadfast at Dimitri’s side, but he needed to make preparations. He’d retreated early in order to quickly wash himself and change into comfortable, clean clothes. He was the one to light the fire in their room, to make sure it was warm by the time Dimitri was finished with his official duties and shuffled back.

When Dedue saw Dimitri struggling with his cloak and coat, he appeared at Dimitri’s side.

Dimitri squeezed his eye shut. “Dedue, I can—”

“I know you can, but I want to.” Dedue unhooked the gold and sapphire lion rampant pin from over Dimitri’s breast. Dimitri relented, too tired to complain further, and Dedue felt a spark of pride that he could bring that calm.

Along with it came the familiar concern that had dogged them recently. That Dimitri surrendered so easily in their expected game, where they played at who would attend the other, did not bode well.

Already, Dimitri was gaining the appearance of a startled and worn-out stag with shadowy bags under his brow and quick, darting attention that didn’t match his unsteadiness.

Dedue took in a breath. “Dimitri?”

“Hm?” The response barely crawled free from Dimitri, as if fighting its way out against a tide of distraction.

“I would like to try something tonight. Something new, if you are inclined.”

Dimitri sighed. “Dedue, as much as I love our time together...I don’t know that I have the mind for—”

“Not that,” Dedue answered quickly, but softly. “Something else. All you will need to do is listen.”

One tired eye swivelled around to him—curiosity slipped in under the dull blue. “What do you have in mind?”

“Please change into the clothes you are most comfortable in and join me on the bed,” Dedue said, offering a soft smile, “I can explain more, and nothing will happen before you tell me it is okay to proceed.”

Dedue sensed Dimitri watching him as he left to grab a chair from the other side of the room, near the little nook where they took breakfast on lazy mornings. A glance out the window told Dedue it was no longer snowing, but a blanket of white had fallen over Fhirdiad and the castle proper.

The city slept. He only hoped he could coax her king to sleep as well.

By the time he deposited a chair beside their bed, Dimitri sat on the side. Dedue had pulled up the covers and furs, leaving them neatly rolled up near the footboard. Some of the tension had left Dimitri as he scanned the room, then Dedue, looking for some hint as to what he had in mind.

As he sat down, Dedue produced a silver pendant from his pocket and placed it on the nightstand. Dimitri’s attention instantly fixated on the object, blinking in confusion. “Dedue, you’re keeping me in suspense.”

Dedue smiled and calmly explained what he was planning.

“What you’re describing...it would be like a trance?” Two blond brows jutted downwards, mouth held in a questioning frown. As he’d listened, Dimitri had propped himself up by the elbows on his spread knees, occasionally running a hand through his hair as Dedue talked.

“Of a sort, yes,” Dedue confirmed. “However, it is not compulsory. Even if performed perfectly, I cannot make you do anything you do not want to or that would be harmful to you.” He studied Dimitri’s nervous hands, his rigid shoulders. “We can stop whenever you need to.”

“And you think this will help me get to sleep?”

“The idea,” Dedue repeated, “is to give your mind something simple to focus on. From there, you may find it easier to sleep.” He swallowed nervously. “Do you want to try?”

The knuckles of Dimitri’s hand stood out as he pressed his fingertips into the side of his head as his face twisted in quiet thought.

He was nervous. Dedue let out a breath. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea—

“I had a headache today,” Dimitri announced, suddenly. “From this morning until about midday. I was going to tell you.”

Someone could have dropped an ice cube down the back of Dedue’s shirt, for as much of those words chilled him. He squeezed his eyes shut. Even if they didn’t try this, they needed to try _something_ , Dedue couldn’t—they couldn’t—allow this to be a cart rolling out of control.

“I want to try it.” Dimitri’s shoulders sagged, he looked up Dedue from under his bangs, hungrily stretching out the ridge of his throat as he massaged the back of his own neck. “I’ll try anything.” He licked his lips. “And I trust you.”

Dedue let the uneasy feeling in his stomach settle, let it be calmed rather than inflamed by hearing something as dangerous as _I trust you_. They couldn’t both be shaken by Dimitri’s headache. If the wildest part of his king’s mind screamed about a coming tide of death and chaos, he knew he could quiet it, so long as Dimitri was willing to be quieted.

Reclaiming the silver pendant from the nightstand, Dedue weighed it in his hands. “All you need to do is watch this and follow the sound of my voice. Do you think you can do that for me?”

For the first time, Dimitri’s mouth went into a familiar wide, tired smile. “I’d follow your voice anywhere.”

Dedue let the pendant drop to the end of a fine silver chain, almost chiming musically when it started dangling, swinging. He shifted his grip between two fingers, experimentally let it sway back and forth as he added a little force, pushing the momentum further, working to keep the swings as steady and even as he could—just like Mercedes had described—until it swung like a pendulum. Occasionally, the pendant spun around, twirled, bounced before Dedue could stabilize it.

Dimtiri’s eye already flitted back and forth, tracking and predicting the path of the pendant.

“Let us begin,” Dedue started, working out the anxious crackle as his throat stuck. “Are you comfortable?”

“I think so,” Dimitri responded. Just outside his vision, Dedue saw Dimitri test his shoulders, shift his heels so they were planted more firmly on the floor.

“As long as it’s still comfortable, can you sit up tall for me?” Dedue asked.

He caught the flicker on Dimitri’s mouth as he sat up, bed creaking as he straightened his back, let it settle over his hips. His attention flitted off the pendant for a moment, and Dedue raised his pendulum a little higher. The silver spun, catching light from the fireplace and candlesticks as it did so, and sometimes Dedue saw shining bottled embers fly across Dimitri’s cheek.

“Thank you, Dimitri. I find it is easier to focus when I am sitting tall.” Dedue kept his voice even, calm, like he might if he was talking to a skittish horse. “I find myself rather taken with the way the pendant catches the light. Aren’t you?”

Dimitri made a noncommittal noise, blue eye still following the shining pendant.

“I soaked it in soda ash and vinegar earlier,” Dedue explained. “The silver is prettiest right after cleaning. Would you agree?”

“Hm,” Dimitri said again, a little louder this time. Dedue watched his eyelid drift downward before Dimitri frowned, blinked, and opened it wide again.

“It is nice,” Dedue started, “to accept our burdens from the day but also lay them down. Take them—one by one—fold them. Set them aside. This goes for anywhere you may be holding tension. Like our hips, or shoulders, perhaps the crown of your head.” He took a breath. “We hold a lot of tension in our jaw sometimes—I give you permission to let it go.”

The pendant swung back and forth. Though Dimitri sat still, Dedue noticed the way his hand was going lax against his knee, his other palm falling to the inside of his thigh. His mouth had opened slightly, his chapped lower lip drying in the air as the muscles around his jaw relaxed.

Dedue licked his lips. He’d spent a good deal of time considering how he wanted to go about it, what approach he wanted to take. Getting away from Fhirdiad was not always an option for either of them, though he often sincerely felt that it was what Dimitri needed most. Early in his planning, it occurred to him that the trance gave him the potential to take Dimitri away in mind if not in body. However, he’d found the tome’s suggestions wanting.

A meadow with dew on the grass was too similar to a battlefield with violence soaking into the soil. A forest was free from the confines of society, but might remind a warrior who had wandered the woods alone of bloodlust and fierce solitude. In a desert the sky seemed bigger, but Dimitri knew all too well that it meant watching the sun drink up the smoke from a massacre with no way to free oneself from the sight.

Water, then.

“Do you remember when we visited the Rhodos Coast, Dimitri?” He worked to focus his own mind’s eye, tried to summon every calming detail of that rare day they had been able to spend in each other’s company. “As we approached, gulls could be heard crying out against the breeze. The waves were gentle that day—sliding up against the gravel like...a soft drum.

“...A soft drum?” Though his voice had a question in it, Dimitri sounded far away, as if mimicking his own dampened echo.

“That is how I think of it,” Dedue responded. “It is what stands out in my mind. Can you tell me what you remember most vividly?”

“I...can.” The lid of Dimitri’s eye nearly fluttered closed before he forced it open again. “You were at my side and I smelled...seaweed. Salty rot.” He licked his dry bottom lip. “When we reached the shoreline I was shocked to see how large the grains of sand were. They were like peas? Smooth and round. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” Dedue answered. “I was surprised. I had never been to a shore like that.” He frowned. “You said you remember the smell of rot?”

“There were dead things.” Dimitri’s throat flickered. “Crabs, drying seaweed, a bird—”

“But there was so much more that was alive there.” Sensing danger, Dedue stepped in, the pendulum wavering in his hand. “When we wandered the pools, spied a deer just on the other side of the woods. All while the waves came and went, came and went...came and went.” As he spoke, he timed the pendulum swing to the cadence of his voice.

Dimitri’s jaw tipped upwards, eye widening as if in surprise. “It was just the two of us.”

“Yes.” Dedue smiled. “It was. We did not have much time there, but you know what I would have wanted to do?”

That time, he didn’t get a response, but Dimitri’s eye drifted directly to Dedue, watching him as distantly as he had been watching the pendulum.

“Please, Your—Dimitri, keep your eye on the pendant.” Despite himself, Dedue felt a flush wash over his cheeks. “I wish we could have brought some blankets with us, curled up against the breeze and just watched until the sun set, and then watched until the stars came out. We could have stayed there—warm, breathing, listening to the waves until we fell asleep.”

When Dimitri next spoke, he was quiet, the edges of his voice, the words therein, fuzzy but certain. “I would have loved that.”

“It has been a long day, Dimitri,” Dedue said. “I think it’s time to go to bed. Would you agree?”

There was no response from Dimitri, save the barest nod, the anticipatory closing of his eye as his shoulders drooped.

Dedue let out a breath then stilled the pendant’s motion, palming the flat side and carefully coiling the dainty chain around the eyelet.

He approached the bed. Dimitri’s eye opened to a blue slit, acknowledged him, and then closed once more. As it did, Dedue pressed one palm to Dimitri’s shoulder and brought another up to cup the side of his throat. He stepped forward, lightly pressing, guiding Dimitri down into bed with one hand as he braced his head with another, gently laying him down on his pillow.

Dedue watched the steady rise and fall of Dimitri’s chest, heard the soft whistle coming from his lips as he let out one breath, then another. As Dedue brought layers of wool and dense furs up to Dimitri’s shoulders, his own held tension released.

He put the fire out, waiting a moment afterwards to watch the last of the embers hiss down to nothing and let his eyes adjust to the newly dark room. That was hardly necessary, as well as he knew it, but appreciated the moment to still his own mind nonetheless. When he could make out the shapes of furniture and decor alike, he padded back across the room and took his own place in bed, careful not to disturb Dimitri as he got settled under the blankets.

When Dedue looked up, he saw that at some point Dimitri had turned onto his side.

In the dark, Dedue could just make out the crooked bump in a nose that had once been broken before healing badly. A wave of blond hair had fallen over Dimitri’s face, covering him brow to mouth and moving lightly as he breathed.

Before Dedue knew what he was doing, his hand was up, brushing Dimitri’s hair away from his face, sweeping it back behind his head.

As Dedue pulled his hand back, his fingers brushed against the tip of Dimitri’s ear—checking the little notch on the upper shell where he’d torn it somehow. Dedue’s touch ran smoothly from there to Dimitri’s cheek, his jaw, before lastly scraping a thumb against his rough lower lip.

He began quietly snoring not long after.

A rare winter sun came in through their windows the next morning, made all the brighter by the new dusting of snow that had collected over Fhirdiad—as well as the palace’s many courtyards and walkways—the night before. Normally, Dedue wouldn’t have thought to bring down the curtains, so grey and long lived was a winter in Fhirdiad, but he woke to a light bright enough to make his eyes ache and regretted forgetting.

That seemed a small annoyance after he checked on Dimitri.

Over the course of Dimitri’s most recent bout with sleeplessness, Dedue had grown used to awakening to see the other side of the bed empty, or waking at the feeling of Dimitri stirring after a night of forced stillness or endless turning on his sides.

Even when sleep came easily, he was naturally inclined to rise early. Though Dedue had long synced his body in time to that clock, sharing a bed meant that he nearly always awoke when Dimitri did, or vice versa.

But the sun shone in, Dedue opened his eyes, and Dimitri still snored softly, his face pressed into the pillow, his jaw disappearing under a mane of covers.

Dimitri kept snoring when Dedue crept out of bed to light the fire once more, and he kept snoring when Dedue went to the basin to shave. When the time came that the two of them would normally begin attending their official duties, Dedue stepped outside only long enough to tell the royal pages that His Majesty would be beginning his day late, who would themselves inform the court. Afterwards, he requested breakfast be brought to the door and retreated back into the quarters they shared.

He wanted to be there when Dimitri woke up.


End file.
